


After Betrayal Comes Grief

by rexthranduil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anankin is mentioned, Gen, Obi-wan takes a little detour before going to pressure a pregnant lady, Order 66, Set after Obi-wan and Yoda scramble the message and Yoda goes to fight Palps, so is Qui-Gon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:33:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/rexthranduil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turning slowly Obi-Wan held his breath, almost afraid of what he would find. Some deep part of him was already weeping, keening in loss and grief and despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Betrayal Comes Grief

**Author's Note:**

> So dcrthkenobi on tumblr is an ass and gave me ideas (and also a lot of SW books to read gdi) and thus this was written in a frenzied blast of like 20 minutes with a possibly broken wrist and also no sleep for two days straight. I'm surprised it's remotely coherent.

Obi-Wan walked slowly, his footsteps echoing in the too silent halls. His breathing was slight, shallow, hitching occasionally in a bid to become sobbing but he held it back. He would not break now. Would not falter. There was something he needed to do first.

The door to his quarters was closed, innocuous and unassuming, but there was a stinking scent of darkness that burned Obi-Wan even as he pressed the controls to override the auto-lock. He blinked sharply, eyebrows raised as he stared into the deep gloom that had settled in his quarters, almost turning the expansive lounge and kitchenette pitch black.

Holding out a hand Obi-Wan brought the Force to bear, imagining a blazing light in the palm of his hand, pushing the darkness back and illuminating the room as he stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a quiet ‘whoosh’ and Obi-Wan was left with only the Force-light held in his hand as he moved quietly, solemnly through his living space.

What _had been_ his living space.

It was no more his home, this Temple full of death and pain and darkness. Now it was a tomb for his brethren, kin not in blood but in power, heart, soul and duty. Too many had died for the place he had grown up in to be anything but a bitter memory now, a twisted mockery of all he had loved.

 _Still_ _loved_.

The door to his bedroom, unlike the main doors to his quarters, had been blown apart from a rushed frenzied attack. It made him want to weep more, to break down and shriek out curses and broken promises and half-secret vows. But Obi-Wan kept walking, each step steady and measured as he forced the Force-light to flare brighter in the even darker recesses of his room.

_Chaos._

_Utter chaos._

The shelves that had once held precious datapads of information, rare flimsiplast books on obscure cultural practices of so many species, mementos of shared trials and tribulations with friends, lovers, colleagues, Ana-

Destroyed. They were scattered about, half burnt and charred. Twisted wrecks of delicate wiring and fragile ceramics.

A sharp, wrecked gasp tore its way out of Obi-Wan’s mouth before he could stop it, and his eyes burned as he blinked harshly, pain and grief churning in his heart, burning and freezing him inside.

His berth was malformed, bedding torn and shredded. The mattress twisted in the middle, half hanging over the side. The windows had been smashed, but an automatic force-shield kept the harsh Coruscanti winds from thrashing the room. The art and frames that had once hung from the walls, holos of all those Obi-Wan loved and cared for… they lay shattered on the ground, frames dark with stains that looked like blood in the fierce glare of Force-light.

Turning slowly Obi-Wan held his breath, almost afraid of what he would find. Some deep part of him was already weeping, keening in loss and grief and despair. A part of him that had once wept for a Master who had passed long before his time.

His desk, shoved in the corner of the room, looked all but untouched by the rage that had been unleashed. Flimsliplast sheets loosely bound together, placed under an empty mug from the last time Obi-Wan had been in the room. A stylus tossed haphazardly beside the ‘plasts, blotting one of the pages it turned with dark ink. 

“No.”

A small pile of dust sat on the edge of the desk, condensed and glittering in the light that stuttered in Obi-Wan’s palm.

“ _Oh gods no_.”

Knees going weak, Obi-Wan fell to the ground, staring wide-eyed at the dust that still whispered with the barest trace of what it had once contained.

Reaching out with his empty hand, trembling, Obi-Wan lightly touched the dust and couldn’t hold back the vicious sob that tore itself from his throat.

Tears burned his vision and great heaving sobs ripped through him as Obi-Wan’s fingers slid through the dust that had once saved his life, that had been the last, tangible connection he’d had to his Master.

“Gods Anakin… _why_?”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are the lifeblood of writers.


End file.
